Parallel

fall.”
    “Yes. Exactly.”
    “And because of this, you thought you might be in a parallel world?”
    It sounds ludicrous. “I’m crazy,” I moan. “That’s the only rational explanation, right? Everything I remember from the last year, none of it really happened. I’m having some sort of psychological breakdown.”
    Caitlin rolls her eyes. “You’re not having a breakdown.”
    “So you can explain this, then. You can explain what’s happening to me.”
    “Well, no. Not yet.”
    “So how can you be so sure that I’m not crazy?”
    “A crazy person wouldn’t be so quick to call herself crazy,” she says matter-of-factly, switching into scientist mode. She gets like this when she’s trying to problem solve. “Okay, so we know that one of two things is true: Either your memories from the last twelve months are accurate or they’re not. If they’re not, then they have to be coming from someplace, whether it be your imagination—which still doesn’t make you crazy—or some external source.”
    “An ‘external source’? What, like mind control?” I might not be a crazy person, but my voice has taken on the frantic, high-pitched screech of one. “You think someone’s messing with my memories?”
    “Calm down. I don’t think anything yet.” She chews on her lip, thinking.
    I lay my head on the desk, the wood cool on my skin. Someone has written CARPE DIEM in blue pen on the wall.
    “Did they ever figure out what caused that earthquake?” I hear myself ask.
    Caitlin stops chewing. “Why’d you ask that?”
    “Because it’s the only thing I remember from the last year that seems to have actually happened,” I reply. “ And it’s the only memory I have that doesn’t fit with the rest.”
    Caitlin’s eyes fly to my face. “What do you mean, ‘doesn’t fit’?”
    I sit up. “It’s like my mind recorded two versions of the same day,” I tell her. “The first day of senior year. In the regular version—the one that fits with the rest of my memories—there was no earthquake, and DeWitt called me to her office during homeroom and told me History of Music had been canceled. I had the choice between drama and astronomy as a replacement elective.”
    “And you picked drama.”
    “Right. And in the other version, the earthquake knocked the power out and I was late to school.”
    “That’s the way I remember it,” Caitlin says slowly. “You came in at the end of assembly, and by the time DeWitt tracked you down, Dr. Mann’s class was your only option. You spent the rest of the day freaking out about your GPA.”
    “I was not freaking out. I merely—”
    “The tremor changed things.” Caitlin starts chewing on her lip again, this time so hard I’m afraid it might bleed. “What does the tremor have to do with—” Suddenly, she stops. “What time is it?”
    I glance at my phone. “Quarter till one. Why?”
    “There’s a train every hour. If we hurry, we can make it.”
    “A train? To where?”
    Caitlin is already heading toward the stairs. “New London,” she calls. “I’ll explain on the way.”
    “After the tremor, a group of physicists in Japan came out in support of his theory. They thought it was at least possible that he was onto something. The Ivies still wouldn’t touch him, but Connecticut College gave him a grant to continue his research at Olin Observatory. He’s been teaching at Conn since January. A bummer for those of us who wanted to take his cosmology class spring semester, but a career-redeeming moment for him.”
    We’re sitting side by side on a commuter train, sharing a stale chocolate muffin from the newsstand at the station.
    “Westbrook!” comes the conductor’s voice. “Westbrook is next!”
    “So Dr. Mann’s theory was about earthquakes?” I ask, confused.
    “No, his theory was about the interaction of alternate realities—something he calls ‘cosmic entanglement.’ Basically, the idea that it’s possible for parallel worlds to collide.” At her mention of parallel worlds, the hair on my arm prickles.
    “That’s what he thinks the earthquake was? A collision of parallel worlds?”
    “The tremor,” Caitlin corrects. “Not an earthquake. And yes. At least according to the article he published in New Science last month.”
    My heart begins to pound. “And if he’s right?”
    “I only skimmed the article,” Caitlin says, and then pops the last bite of muffin into her mouth. “So we’re going to the source.”
    We